girl, with smiles and blushes, timidly communicated to
him also a poetic composition. Her verses wanted rhythm and harmony,
perhaps; but they were simple and affecting, as a non-envenomed
complaint entrusted to a friendly hearer. From that day Agricola and she
held frequent consultations; they gave each other mutual encouragement:
but with this exception, no one else knew anything of the girl's
poetical essays, whose mild timidity made her often pass for a person of
weak intellect. This soul must have been great and beautiful, for in all
her unlettered strains there was not a word of murmuring respecting her
hard lot: her note was sad, but gentle--desponding, but resigned; it
was especially the language of deep tenderness--of mournful sympathy--of
angelic charity for all poor creatures consigned, like her, to bear
the double burden of poverty and deformity. Yet she often expressed
a sincere free-spoken admiration of beauty, free from all envy or
bitterness; she admired beauty as she admired the sun. But, alas! many
were the verses of hers that Agricola had never seen, and which he was
never to see.

The young mechanic, though not strictly handsome, had an open masculine
face; was as courageous as kind; possessed a noble, glowing, generous
heart, a superior mind, and a frank, pleasing gayety of spirits. The
young girl, brought up with him, loved him as an unfortunate creature
can love, who, dreading cruel ridicule, is obliged to hide her affection
in the depths of her heart, and adopt reserve and deep dissimulation.
She did not seek to combat her love; to what purpose should she do
so? No one would ever know it. Her well known sisterly affection for
Agricola explained the interest she took in all that concerned him; so
that no one was surprised at the extreme grief of the young workwoman,
when, in 1830, Agricola, after fighting intrepidly for the people's
flag, was brought bleeding home to his mother. Dagobert's son, deceived,
like others, on this point, had never suspected, and was destined never
to suspect, this love for him.

Such was the poorly-clad girl who entered the room in which Frances was
preparing her son's supper.

"Is it you, my poor love," said she; "I have not seen you since morning:
have you been ill? Come and kiss me."

The young girl kissed Agricola's mother, and replied: "I was very busy
about some work, mother; I did not wish to lose a moment; I have only
just finished it. I am going down to fetc